As soon as the sun had set, the defenders gathered on the walls. Fires had
already been lighted there and cauldrons of water and pitch suspended over
them, and sacks of quicklime placed in readiness to be emptied; great
piles of stone were placed at short intervals.

"As long as they attack at only one or two places," Sir Eustace said to
his wife, "I am quite confident that we shall repulse them. If they attack
at a dozen they may succeed, as we should only have a couple of archers
and six or seven men-at-arms at each point, besides a score or so of the
vassals. I have no doubt that these will fight stoutly, for the sight of
their burning homes has roused them, and each man is longing to get a blow
at those who have wrought them so much damage. Still, thirty men are but a
small party to beat back an assault by hundreds. However, if they carry
the outside wall they will have the second to deal with, and there we
shall stand much thicker together, and they cannot attack from many
points, while if we are driven into the keep, we shall be stronger still.
Have you seen that the women and children are ready to retire into the
keep as soon as the assault begins?"

"I have been round myself and given orders," Dame Margaret said. "I have
told them that the inner gate will be closed as soon as fighting begins,
and that those who do not come in before that must remain outside, or else
mount to the walls and cross the bridges, for that on no account will the
gates be opened again."

"That is well, Margaret. I am now about to station two men-at-arms on the
inner wall at the end of each of the three bridges, so that they may be
ready on the instant to turn the catches and let the bridges fall behind
our men as they rush across. The tenants have already driven as many more
of their best horses and cattle into the inner court as can find standing
room, so that their loss may be as small as possible. If the outer wall is
carried, I have no great fear that the second wall will be taken; the
plunderers who form the mass of Sir Clugnet's force will have had enough
and more than enough of fighting by the time that they capture the outer
one. Whatever happens, do not show yourself on the walls to-night, and see
that the children do not leave their beds; you can do naught, and will see
but little in the dark. To-morrow morning, wife, I will leave you free to
go among the soldiers and give them encouragement as may be needed, but
for to-night, I pray you stir not out. I will send Henry from time to time
to let you know how matters go."

Rapidly the men gathered on the walls; each had had his post assigned to
him, and when Sir Eustace made a tour of inspection he was glad to see how
confidently each man bore himself, and how well prepared to give the enemy
a warm reception. As soon as it became dark, the outwork on the other side
of the moat was abandoned, the defenders called into the castle, and the
drawbridge raised, for it was evident to Sir Eustace that although it
might be maintained in daylight, by the aid of the archers on the wall, it
could not resist an attack by overwhelming numbers when deprived of that
assistance. Sir Eustace, after inspecting the men's arms, ordered all
those on the walls, with the exception of a few who were to remain on
watch, to sit down with their backs against the battlement, and to
maintain an absolute silence.

"It is by sound rather than sight that we shall be able to judge of their
movements," he said. "All sitting down may sleep, if it so pleases them,
till they are roused."

The sentries were ten in number, and were all taken from among the
archers. Most of these men had been accustomed to the chase, were skilled
in woodcraft, and accustomed to listen to the slightest noises that might
tell of the movement of a stag and enable them to judge his position. Sir
Eustace, for the present, posted himself in his old position over the
gate. Jean Bouvard and Guy were with him, while Long Tom moved round and
round the walls to gather news from his sentries. Sometimes Guy
accompanied him.

"They are moving," Tom the archer said as he stood listening intently on
the wall at the rear of the castle. "It is an hour past sundown, and about
the time the knaves will be mustering if they intend to make a regular
attack on us. If it had been only an escalade there would have been no
sound until nearly morning. I thought I heard them on the other side, but
I am sure of it now."

"I can hear singing up at their camp," Guy said, "but I don't hear
anything else."

"They are keeping that up to deceive us, I expect. But besides the singing
there is a sort of rustle. I don't think that they are coming this way at
present, or we should hear it plainer. It seems to me that it is spreading
all round."

"We have noticed it too--at least, all round this side. Tell him not to
call the men to their feet until the enemy approaches more closely. I
believe that it is the march of a large number of men, and that they are
probably moving to the positions assigned to them, but it may be another
hour or two before they close in."

In a short time the sound became more distinct; from a rustle it rose to a
deep confused murmur, then an occasional clink as of arms striking armour
became audible. Most of the men on the walls were now on their feet gazing
into the darkness. Presently the sound ceased, first on one side and then
on another.

"I fancy they are all at their stations now, Jean Bouvard; we shall soon
hear more of them. Do not let your archers shoot, Tom, until they can make
them out very distinctly. We may be sure that they will come up with their
mantlets, and it would be a waste of arrows to loose at them until they
are close to the moat; but of course if separate figures can be
distinguished your men will draw on them."

In a quarter of an hour messengers came from various points on the wall
saying that there was something moving within sight, and to those at the
post over the gate a dark confused mass like a shadow seemed to be slowly
coming down towards their outwork.

"Touch off the guns, Jean," Sir Eustace said; "we shall get no further
chance of catching them in a body."

The captain stooped, lit two touchfires at the lantern standing in
readiness, gave one to a man-at-arms, and went with the other to a cannon.
Both the guns had been filled to the muzzle with bits of iron and nails,
and had been laid to bear on the slope beyond the outwork. They were fired
almost simultaneously, and the sound was followed by yells of pain and
dismay. The besiegers, seeing that there was nothing further to gain by
concealment, burst into a shout that ran all round the castle, and were
answered by one of defiance from the walls. The sound was succeeded by
loud orders from the leaders of the various assaulting parties, and the
objects before but dimly seen, now approached the walls rapidly. Jean
Bouvard hurried away to superintend the defence at other parts.

"You may as well go the other way, Guy, and let me know from time to time
how things are getting on. Henry, run down to your mother and tell her
that the enemy are moving up to the moat, and that it will be some time
before there is any hard fighting; then come back here again."

It was easier to see from the side walls than it had been in front, for in
front there was a glow in the sky from the number of fires burning beyond
the crest of the slope, and Guy was able to make out what seemed to him a
wall extending some fifteen yards, near the edge of the moat. The archers
and crossbow-men gathered opposite to it had just begun to shoot. Behind
this wall there were other dark masses irregularly placed, and extending
back as far as he could see. An occasional cry told that the arrows were
doing execution upon the unseen assailants behind the mantlets, and soon
the blows of cross-bow bolts against the wall and the sharp tap of arrows
told that the enemy had also betaken themselves to their arms. A number of
giant torches had been prepared, consisting of sheafs of straw soaked with
pitch, and one of these was now lighted and elevated on a pole some
fifteen feet above the battlement. Its light was sufficient to enable the
scene beyond to be clearly made out. A row of mantlets some eight feet
high had been placed by the moat, and others of the same height, and seven
or eight feet long, elevated at short intervals behind these, were so
placed as to afford shelter to the men coming down to the mantlets in
front. They stood in two lines; they were some twenty feet apart, but
those in one line alternated with those in the other. Guy soon saw the
object of this arrangement. Men were darting to and fro across the
interval some six feet wide between the two lines. Thus they had but ten
feet to run from the shelter on one side to that on the other, and exposed
themselves but for an instant to the aim of the archers. Some of the men
carried great bundles of faggots, others had sacks on their shoulders.

"Do not heed the mantlets in front," said Dickon, who was in command of
the six archers near Guy, "but pick off those fellows as they come down.
Shoot in turn; it is no use wasting two arrows on one man. Don't loose
your shaft until a man is within three mantlets from the end; then if one
misses, the next can take him when he runs across next time. That is
right, Hal," he broke off, as an arrow sped and a man with a sack on his
shoulder rolled over. "Now, lads, we ought not to miss them by this
light."

Eleven men fell, out of the next twelve who attempted to carry their
burdens down. Guy went back to Sir Eustace with the news of the manner in
which the attack was being carried on, and of the effect of the archers'
defence.

"I have just heard the same from the other side; there is one attack on
each side and two behind; Jean Bouvard has posted himself there. I am
going round myself now; I do not think there will be any attack made in
front. I have sent the archers here to the rear, where they will be more
useful; the fellows in the outwork across there have enough to do to
shelter themselves."

This Guy could well understand, for although the guns could not be
depressed sufficiently to fire down into the tete du pont, the mangonels
were hurling stones into it, and the men-at-arms shooting cross-bow
quarrels whenever a man showed himself. The rear of the outwork was open
and afforded no shelter to those who had taken possession of it, and
already the greater portion had retired to the other side of the small
moat surrounding it, where they lay sheltered by the outwork itself. It
was not long before the assailants at the other points, finding that the
plan they had formed was defeated by the skill of the archers, poured down
in a mass between the two lines of mantlets, each man carrying his burden
before him, thus sheltering him to a great extent. Against this method of
attack the archers could do little, and now confined themselves to
shooting at the men who, having thrown down the fascines or sacks by the
edge of the moat, stood for a moment and hesitated before running back to
the shelter of the mantlets, and not one in three got off scot-free. Guy
on going round the wall found the same state of things at each of the
other three points of assault. Numbers of the enemy were falling, but
great piles of materials were accumulating at the edge of the moat. After
a time a number of knights and men-at-arms, fully protected by armour,
came down and began to hurl the sacks and bags into the moat, their
operations being covered as much as possible by a storm of missiles shot
through holes in the mantlets. In a short time Sir Eustace ordered the
archers to desist shooting, for they were obliged, in order to aim at
those so much below them, to expose a considerable portion of their
bodies, and three were killed by the enemy's missiles.

"We can't prevent them from filling up the moat," he said, "and it is but
throwing away life to try to do so."

The archers were accordingly placed in the projecting turrets, where,
without being themselves exposed, they could shoot through the loopholes
at any point on the face of the walls. It was not long before the moat was
bridged at all four points of attack. Ladders were then brought down. This
the assailants were able to accomplish without loss, as, instead of
carrying them, they were pushed backwards and forwards by men stationed
behind the mantlets, and were so zigzagged down to the moat without the
defenders being able to offer any opposition. Then rushes were made by
parties of knights, the ladders were placed, and the fight began in
earnest.

In the great court-yard the leader of the English men-at-arms was placed
with twelve of his men as a reserve. They were to be summoned by one, two,
three, or four blasts of a horn to the point at which their services were
most required. The assaults were obstinate, but the walls were as stoutly
defended. Sometimes the ladders were hurled back by poles with an iron
fork at the end; buckets of boiling water and tar were poured over on to
the assailants as they clambered up, and lime cast over on those waiting
to take their turns to ascend; while with spear, axe, and mace the men-at-
arms and tenants met the assailants as they endeavoured to get a footing
on the wall.

Guy had placed himself with the party to which he had first gone, and,
taking a pike from a fallen man, was fighting stoutly. The archers from
their turrets kept up a constant flight of arrows on the crowd below. Only
once was the horn sounded for the aid of the reserve. Sir Eustace had
taken the command at the rear, while Jean Bouvard headed the defence on
the side opposite to that at which Guy was fighting. The defenders under
Sir Eustace had the hardest work to hold their own, being assaulted at two
points. This was evidently the main place of attack, for here Sir Clugnet
himself and several of his knights led the assault, and at one time
succeeded in gaining a footing on the wall at one point, while Sir Eustace
was at the other. Then the knight blew his horn, and at the same time
called the archers from the turret nearest to him, while some of the other
party on the wall rushed to aid him of their own accord and, pressing
through the tenants, opposed themselves to the knights and men-at-arms who
had obtained a footing on the wall.

Their strength, and the power with which they wielded their heavy axes, so
held the assailants in cheek that they could not gain space sufficient for
others to join them, and when the reserve ran up, so fierce an attack was
made upon the knights that several were beaten down and the rest forced to
spring over the wall at the risk of life and limb. Sir Clugnet himself was
the last to do this, and was carried away insensible. Two or three of his
companions were killed by the fall, but the rest, leaping far enough out
to alight beyond the solid ground at the foot of the walls, had their fall
broken by the yielding mass of materials by which they had crossed the
moat. A loud shout of triumph rose from the defenders, and was re-echoed
by shouts from the other walls. As soon as the news of the repulse at the
rear reached the other parties, and that Sir Clugnet was badly hurt, while
several of the knights were killed, the assault ceased at once, and the
Orleanists withdrew, followed by derisive cries from the defenders.

"Thanks be to the saints that it is all over," Sir Eustace said, as he
opened his vizor; "it was a close thing here, and for a time I feared that
the outer wall was lost. However, I think that there is an end of it now,
and by the morning we shall find that they have moved off. They must have
suffered very heavily; certainly three or four hundred must have fallen,
for we must admit that they fought stoutly. You have all done well, my
friends, and I thank you heartily. Now, the first thing is to fetch the
wounded down to the hall prepared for them. Father Gregory has all in
readiness for them there. Guy, go round and find who have fallen, and see
them carried reverently down to the court-yard, send me a list of their
names, and place two men-at-arms at each point where the assault took
place. Tom, do you similarly dispose eight of your archers so that should
they send a spy up to see if we sleep, a message can be sent back in the
shape of a cloth-yard shaft. Bid all the tenants and retainers leave the
wall; a horn will recall them should there be need. I will myself visit
them shortly, and thank them for their stout defence. I will send round a
cup of spiced wine to each man on the wall as soon as it can be prepared,
to that all may slake their thirst after their efforts."

Sir Eustace then made his way down from the wall to his Apartments, where
Dame Margaret was awaiting him. She hurried to meet him.

"Wait, wife, till I have removed my helmet, and even then you must be
careful how you embrace me, for methinks there is more than one blood-
stain on my armour, though happily not of mine own. All has gone well,
love, and methinks that we shall hear no more of them; but they fought
more stoutly than I had given them credit for, seeing that they were but a
mixed rabble, with a small proportion of real men-at-arms among them. I
suppose Henry brought you my message to close the inner gates, as they had
gained a footing on the walls."

"No, I received no message since the one he brought me half an hour ago,
saying that all was going well, and I thought that he was with you. Where
can he be, Eustace?" she asked anxiously.

"I know not indeed, Margaret, but will search at once. While I do so will
you go to the hall that you have prepared for the wounded, and give what
aid you can there? Do not fear for the boy; he turned and ran off when I
spoke to him, and as his head reaches not to the top of the battlements no
harm can have befallen him, though in truth I cannot think what can have
delayed him."

He called to two or three of the men below to take torches, and to
accompany him at once, and sent others to the sheds to ask if he had been
seen there, then went up to the top of the inner wall and crossed the
bridge at the back.

"No, my lord," one said in reply. "I marked him by our side just before
the French got a footing at the other end of the wall, but I saw him not
afterwards."

"He ran towards the steps at the corner there," Sir Eustace said, "with a
message from me that the inner doors were to be closed. Come along, men,"
he said to those with torches, and going to the corner of the wall
descended the steps, which were steep and narrow. He took a torch from one
of the men and held it over his head. As he neared the bottom he gave a
low cry and ran down the last few steps, where, lying at the bottom, was
the form of his son. He was stretched at full length, and there was a
terrible gash on his forehead. The knight knelt beside him and raised his
head, from which the steel cap had fallen; there was a deep stain of blood
on the pavement beneath. He placed his hand on the boy's heart and his ear
to his lips, and the men with the torches stood silently round. It was but
too evident what had happened. In his haste to carry the message Henry's
foot had slipped, and he had fallen headforemost down the steep steps, his
head coming in contact with the edge of one of them. Without a word Sir
Eustace raised the boy gently in his arms. His face was sufficient to tell
the men the news; their young lord was dead.

Sir Eustace carried him through the inner gate and up to the boy's own
room, and laid him down on his bed, then silently he went out again and
crossed the court to the keep. Dame Margaret was seeing to the wounded
being laid on the straw in the lower room, and did not notice him until he
touched her. She turned sharply round, his face was sufficient to tell her
the truth. She gave a low cry and stepped back a pace, and he moved
forwards and drew her to him.

"Love," he said tenderly, "God has taken him. He was fitter for heaven
than any of us; he was too gentle for this rough world of ours. We shall
mourn for him, but with him it is well."

Dame Margaret laid her head on his shoulder, and burst into a passion of
tears. Sir Eustace let her weep for a time, then he whispered:

"You must be brave, my love. There will be other mourners here for their
dear ones who have died fighting for us; they will need your comfort. A
Villeroy could not die better than doing his duty. It was not by man's
hand that he fell, but God took him. His foot slipped in running down the
stair from the wall, and he must assuredly have died without a pang. Take
the priest with you; I will see to the wounded here. Father Gregory," he
went on, raising his voice, "Dame Margaret has more need of you at the
present moment than have these brave fellows. A grievous misfortune has
befallen us. My son is dead; he fell while doing his duty. Do you take her
to his room; I give her to your charge for the present. I have my work to
do, and will see that your patients are well cared for."

There was a murmur of surprise and regret from the wounded and those who
had brought them in. The poor lad had been a general favourite in the
castle for his gentle and pleasant ways with all, though many a time the
rough soldiers had said among themselves, "'Tis a pity that he was not a
girl, and the Lady Agnes a boy. He is more fit for a priest than for a
baron in times like these, for assuredly he will never grow into a stout
man-at-arms like his father." That a soldier should have been killed in
such a fight was to be expected, but that a gentle boy like this should
have fallen seemed strange and unnatural, and all sorrowed for him as well
as for their lord and lady, and the men forgot for a time the smart of
their wounds in their regret at his untimely death.

Sir Eustace went about his work quietly and earnestly, bound up the
soldiers' wounds, and saw as far as might be to their comfort. Their
number was not large, as it was only in the fight on the wall that aught
save their heads had been exposed, and those struck by cross-bow bolts had
for the most part fallen as they stood. The eight men brought in had
without exception received wounds from the swords of the French knights,
and though some of the gashes were broad and deep, none of them were
likely to prove fatal. Just as the knight had finished, Guy entered. He
had heard the news, which had spread like wildfire through the castle. The
lad's eyes were red, for he had been greatly attached to Henry, whose
constant companion he had been whenever the family had been at their
English home.

"It is a strange fate, lad," Sir Eustace said, laying his hand upon Guy's
shoulder. "You who have exposed yourself freely--for I marked you in the
fight--have come through scatheless, while Henry, whom I thought to keep
out of danger, has fallen. And what is your news?"

"There have been seventeen killed, my lord, besides Jean Bouvard, who was
struck in the face by one of the last crossbow bolts shot before they drew
off."

"This is bad news indeed. I wondered why he came not to me as soon as we
had beaten them off, but I thought not of this. He was a good and
trustworthy fellow, and I shall miss him sorely. Seventeen, say you? It is
too many; and yet there might have been more. Who are they?"

"Four of our archers, Sir Eustace, one of our English men-at-arms, and six
of your French men-at-arms. These were all killed by cross-bow bolts and
arrows, Two of your tenants, Pierre Leroix and Jules Beaune, and four of
their men fell on the wall when the French gained a footing there; three
were, I hear, unmarried men, the other has left a wife and three
children."

"They shall be my care," the knight said. "The wives of Leroix and Beaune
shall hold their farms free of dues until their eldest sons come of age.
Does all seem quiet without?"

"All is quiet, my lord; but as I left the wall but now a knight with a
white flag and four torch-bearers was coming down the slope towards the
outwork."

"I will go there myself," Sir Eustace said; "'tis likely they do but come
to ask for leave to carry off the dead and wounded, which we will gladly
let them do, for it will save us much trouble to-morrow."

It was as the knight had supposed, and he at once gave the permission
asked for, and in a short time a great number of men with torches came
down the slope and for the next two hours were occupied in carrying off
their dead and wounded comrades. A close watch was maintained all night,
though there was small fear of a renewal of the attack. At daybreak the
rear-guard of the enemy could be seen retiring, and a party of men-at-
arms, under Sir Eustace himself, on going out to reconnoitre, found that
none had remained behind. A mound marked the place where their dead had
been buried in one great grave. Many of the mantlets had been removed, and
they doubted not that these had been used as litters for the conveyance of
the wounded. They afterwards heard that some four hundred and fifty men
had been killed, and that over a hundred, too sorely wounded to be able to
walk, had been carried away.

In the afternoon Henry was buried beneath the chapel in the castle, while
the men-at-arms and others were laid in the inner court-yard. Having
learned that the Orleanists, greatly disheartened at their heavy repulse,
had marched away to the south, the gates of the castle were opened. A
small number of the garrison were retained in the castle, and the rest
were sent out to aid the tenants in felling trees and getting up temporary
shelters near their former homes until these could be rebuilt as before.
For the time their wives and families were to remain in the castle.

All fear of another attack by the Orleanists speedily passed away. Artois
was, upon the whole, strongly Burgundian, and an army marching from
Flanders speedily brought the whole province over to that side. Nothing
was done towards commencing the work of rebuilding the farmhouses, for it
was evident that the castle might at any moment be again beleaguered.

Two months passed quietly. Sir Eustace busied himself in seeing that the
tenants were comfortably re-established in their temporary homes. The
Burgundians had again obtained several advantages, and as Sir Clugnet was
known to have marched away with his following to the assistance of the
Orleanists, who had of late fared badly, there was no fear of any fresh
attack being made upon the castle. One day a messenger rode in from the
Governor of Calais, who was personally known to Sir Eustace. The letter
that he carried was an important one. After the usual greeting it read:--

_For the love I bear you, Sir Eustace, I write to let you know that
there is a change in affairs. It seems that the Duke of Burgundy has but
been playing with our King Henry, and that the offer of a marriage was
made only in order to obtain assistance and the countenance of the king.
Being now, as it would seem, powerful enough to hold his own against his
enemies without such aid, the matter has fallen through. I have received a
royal order, which has also been sent to the governors of other English
towns, and it has been proclaimed everywhere by sound of trumpets, that
none of Henry's subjects of whatever rank should in any way interfere
between the two factions in France, nor go into France to serve either of
them by arms or otherwise under pain of death and confiscation of fortune.
But I would tell you for your private ear, that I have news that our king
is in correspondence with the Dukes of Berri, Orleans, and Bourbon, and
that it is like that he will shortly declare for that party, being
grievously offended at the treatment that he has received at the hands of
the Duke of Burgundy after having given him loyal help and assistance
which had, in no slight degree, assisted him in making good his cause
against his enemies._

In a short time, indeed, the English from Calais, and from other places
held by them in France, began to make sorties and to carry off much
plunder from the country round, and especially took by storm the Castle of
Banelinghen near Ardres, notwithstanding the truce that prevailed. The
intentions of the King of England were made still more manifest by his
writing a letter to the Flemish towns, saying that, having heard that the
Duke of Burgundy was gathering an army of Flemings to march into Aquitaine
to wage war upon and destroy his subjects, and particularly his very dear
and well-beloved cousins the Dukes of Berri, Orleans, and Bourbon, and the
Counts of Alencon and Armagnac, and the Lord d'Albreth, he therefore
begged them to inform him whether they were willing to conform to the
truce concluded between them and England without in any way assisting
their lord in his wicked purpose.

The Flemish towns replied that they desired in no way to infringe the
truce between the two countries, but that they would serve and assist the
King of France, their sovereign lord, and their Count the Duke of
Burgundy, as heretofore, to the utmost of their power.

In a short time, indeed, it became known that a solemn treaty had been
concluded between the King of England and the Orleanist nobles, they
engaging to aid him to recover Guienne and the parts of Aquitaine he had
lost, while he promised to put an army in the field to assist them.

The position of Sir Eustace was now very difficult. It was uncertain when
the English would move, and it was likely enough that if an army set sail
it would land in Guienne, and that Calais would be able to render no
assistance, so that he would be exposed to the attacks of the Burgundians.
Nor was his position improved when he learned that on the 15th of July the
two French factions, urged by the Count of Savoy, the Grand Master of
Rhodes, and many others, had agreed to terms of peace between them, and
that the Orleanists had formally renounced the English alliance.

At the meeting of the leaders of the party, the Duke of Aquitaine, the
king's son, presided. For a time all the differences were patched up. The
news, however, came too late to arrest the embarkation of the English.
Eight thousand men landed at La Hogue, under the Duke of Clarence, overran
a wide extent of country, being reinforced by 800 Gascons, who had,
according to the agreement with the Orleanists, been raised to join them.
They advanced towards Paris, declaring, however, that they would retire if
the Duke of Berri and his party kept their engagement with them, and paid
them the two hundred thousand crowns he had agreed to do. The Duke had
not, however, the means to pay this amount, and the English therefore
continued to ravage the country, while a large force from Calais, under
the Earl of Warwick, captured the town of Saumer-au-Bois and the Castle of
Ruissault. This, however, was scarcely an invasion, and Sir Eustace, being
doubtful whether Henry meditated operations upon a large scale now that he
had no longer allies in France, took no part in the matter, but remained
quietly in his castle.

Towards the end of March, 1413, a royal herald appeared before the gate.
He was at once admitted, and was received with all honour in the great
hall by Sir Eustace.

"Sir Eustace de Villeroy." he said, "I come to you in the name of the King
of France, your lord and suzerain. He bids me to say that he has heard
with satisfaction that you refused entry to your castle to those who
demanded it altogether without authority from him; but that, seeing the
importance of the castle in case of trouble with England, and that you are
a vassal of England for estates in that country, he deems it necessary
that its safety should be assured, and therefore calls upon you to send,
in proof of your loyalty to and affection for him, your wife and children
to Paris, where they shall be cared for in all honour and as becomes their
condition; or to receive a garrison of royal troops of such strength as to
defend it from any fresh assault that may be made upon it, either on the
part of those who before attacked it, or of England. He charges you on
your fealty to accept one or other of these conditions, or to be deemed a
false vassal, which he cannot believe you are, knowing you to be a brave
and worthy knight. Here is a document with the king's signature and seal
to the effect which I have delivered to you."

"His Majesty's demands come upon me as a surprise," the knight said
gravely, "and I pray you to abide with me till to-morrow, by which time I
shall have had leisure to consider the alternative and be ready to give
you answer."

"Your request is a reasonable one, Sir Eustace," the herald replied, "and
I will await the answer for twenty-four hours."

The herald was then conducted to the guest-chamber, and Sir Eustace went
out into the court-yard and for some time busied himself with the usual
affairs of his estate and talked to the tenants as to their plans; then he
went up on to the wall and there paced moodily backwards and forwards
thinking over the summons that he had received. He knew that Margaret had
been in the gallery in the hall and had heard the message the herald had
delivered, and he wished to think it well over before seeing her. His
position was, he felt, a perilous one. The last treaty of peace between
France and England had drawn the frontier line more straitly in. After
Cressy was fought, but a few miles away, Villeroy had stood within the
English line as far as it now stood without it. That Henry, who although
now old and averse to war, must yet ere long again renew the war that had
so long languished he had little doubt; but he had no hope of succour at
present, and felt that though able to withstand any sudden attack like
that he had recently repulsed, he could not hope to make a successful
defence against a great force provided with battering machines.

The message from the king was indeed but a message from Burgundy, but if
Burgundy was all-powerful just at present it had the same effect as if it
were the king and not he who had sent the summons. He could see no way of
temporizing save that Margaret and the children should go as hostages, and
the idea of this was wholly repugnant to him. Were he to admit a French
garrison the castle would be virtually lost to him; for once powerless, he
could easily be set aside in favour of one of Burgundy's followers. The
only alternative then seemed to be that he should altogether forsake the
castle and estate so long held by his ancestors, and retire to England,
until maybe some day Henry might again place him in possession of it. He
regretted now that he had not told Margaret that she had best keep her
chamber, for she then would have known nothing of the alternative that she
should go as a hostage--an alternative, he foresaw, that she was likely to
favour, as by so doing the necessity for making an absolute decision and
choosing between France and England would be postponed. At length, still
undecided in his mind, he descended from the wall and went up to his
wife's apartments.